


Angel's Lament

by MaggieMaybe160



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Heaven, Heaven & Hell, Heavy Angst, Hell, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Plot Twists, Post-Episode: s13e05 Advanced Thanatology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23278513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/pseuds/MaggieMaybe160
Summary: Cas makes it back from the Empty but there's a Winchester missing.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 104





	Angel's Lament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueeyesandpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/gifts).



> Thanks to my cheerleaders and betas for helping me along the way! 
> 
> This fic was won by Sunny during the Profound Bond Discord Birthday Bash. Huge thank you for wanting a fic from me! I love you so much! I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> If you're 18+ and love destiel, come join us at the [Profound Bond Discord Server!](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)

Castiel has been walking for hours. His memory isn’t wiped. He clearly remembers dying. He remembers the white-hot pain that pierced his back and he will never be able to erase the look on Dean’s face, surrounded by blinding light, his face filled with horror. His green eyes had grown wide in that flash, but as soon as the light was gone, so was Cas. 

Castiel remembers everything that happened in the Empty. He remembers hearing his name, spoken by an unfamiliar voice. He remembers rising up and being beaten down, the entity that watches over the rest of the eternally sleeping angels and demons trying to put him back to sleep. He remembers the nothingness and the pain and the tiny part of him that wanted to listen, that wanted to go back to sleep and rest. Then there was the much larger, much louder part of himself screaming for Dean. Dean’s green eyes flashing in his mind. Every glance caught, every gaze held, kept Cas going despite the verbal and physical punches. He was going to survive. He was going to make it back. To Dean. If for nothing else than just to see those eyes again. 

It’s late when Cas makes it to a payphone. He had to find enough coins to use it, which he did easily enough with the skills he’d honed when he’d been a homeless human many years ago. It suddenly occurs to Cas that he has no idea how much time has actually passed since he died. For all he knows, Sam and Dean are old men, retired from the life. Maybe Dean got married. Maybe Jack saved the world and monsters no longer exist. Maybe Sam had a dog. Cas hesitates, holding the receiver as he looks at the number pad like it’s taunting him. Maybe Dean’s number has changed. Maybe they forgot about him and moved on. Maybe he took too long. 

Cas steels himself and dials Dean’s number. He shuts his eyes tight as it rings, unprepared for Dean to answer. Unprepared for him _not_ to answer. It goes to voicemail, but the voice is still Dean’s. His heart jumps at the sound of his voice, but he hangs up and shoves another quarter in the slot to try again. Dean’s horror-stricken face surrounded by the bright light of an angel’s death flashes when he closes his eyes. 

“Hello?” 

“Sam.” Why is Sam answering the phone? 

“Cas?” He hears a car swerve. Dean must be driving. “Is it really you?” 

“Yes.” He can feel the excitement growing in his chest. They’re still alive. They’re coming to get him. His family still loves him. He still has a family. He tells Sam where he is and describes the alley that he’s standing in. 

“Be there soon. Stay there,” Sam says. The call ends and Cas looks at the receiver in his hand before hanging it back up. 

“I’ll just—” The call ends and Cas looks at the receiver in his hand before hanging it back up. “...Wait here then.” He stands next to the phone and waits, ready to go home. Ready to hug Dean. Ready to drink a celebratory beer and ignore the molecular taste for the feeling of comradery and to see the smile that drives him forward. He counts the moments by the beating of his heart until he will see Dean again. 

Not every car that passes by makes his heart leap. He knows the sound of the Impala too well. He knows the low rumble of that specific engine. He knows those four tires and the way that they sound on asphalt, gravel, dirt, grass, mud, ice, and snow. 

Cas contemplates what he will do when they arrive. Part of him wants to pull Dean into his arms and tell him that he’s in love with him, an emotion that shouldn’t even be possible for him. He wants to caress Dean’s face gently and tell him he’s sorry. He’s sorry for going into the other world and ignoring Dean’s cries for him not to go after Lucifer, his scream echoing even after he’d gone through the portal. He’s sorry for not being more careful and ending up with his own blade in his back. He’s sorry that Dean had to watch him die. He’s sorry he didn’t tell Dean sooner. Then, he wants to kiss him. He wants to press his lips against Dean’s and find out what it feels like to kiss the love of his life. The other part of him, the part of him that remembers what the Empty had told him, whispers that he can’t have any of that. He has to stay quiet. He has to stay calm. He has to listen to Dean call him family, brother, buddy, pal, friend. He will let Dean hug him and he’ll hold onto that feeling for months, years, eons maybe. He will answer questions about what happened. He will get in the back of the car and he will stare into the rearview mirror, hoping for Dean to glance back. 

When he hears Baby approaching, Cas forces himself to stay still. He only sees one person driving and it isn’t Dean. Sam parks the car and gets out with a rush before closing the door slowly behind him as if what he’s seeing has just caught up to him. He freezes and looks Cas up and down with disbelieving, red-rimmed eyes. 

“No,” he says with a small shake of his head. “No, you’re dead.” 

“I was,” Cas allows. He still feels rooted to the spot. There’s something wrong. Where is Dean? Where is Jack? _Where is Dean_? “I, uh… I…” His eyes flit to glance over Sam’s shoulder quickly before going back to Sam. “I annoyed an ancient cosmic being so much that he sent me back.” 

“I don’t even know what to say.” Sam sniffs and smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Cas feels his heart sinking as he finally takes a few steps toward him. 

“Sam, where is Dean?” Sam swallows hard and takes a deep breath. His pain is all over his face. Something is very, very wrong. 

“Dean, uh…” Sam shakes his head. “Dean’s gone.” 

“Gone,” Cas repeats, the word slicing in and cutting him deep. Cas feels his already sinking heart plummet down through his feet to the center of the Earth. He feels all of the air leave his lungs. “No.” Cas shakes his head and takes a shaky step away from Sam, away from the truth. “No.” He shakes his head and ignores the obvious tremor in his voice as he tries to imagine what kind of trick the Empty could possibly be playing on him. It’s too real though. No walls are closing in though the world seems infinitely smaller without Dean there. “No,” is all he can say. Sam reaches out, his hands gripping Cas’ shoulders to keep him from staggering backward again maybe. Or was Cas falling? He can’t tell. Sam pulls him into a hug and Cas thinks about letting himself cry. 

“Are you okay?” he asks instead, remembering that his job, in Dean’s stead, is to take care of Sam. He has to stay strong for Sam and take care of the grieving brother. He remembers making that promise to Dean a few years ago. 

The hug ends, but Sam doesn’t really answer. He doesn’t shrug or shake his head. He doesn’t cry more than he obviously already has been. He doesn’t say anything. He just sniffs and shoves his hands in his pockets, the corners of his mouth turned down. 

“Come on,” he says, turning back to the car. Cas follows him without a word. He feels broken. He feels cheated. He feels like, yes, he should have told Dean that he loved him before. He should have told him every day. He should ha— What is in the backseat? 

“Sam?” Cas looks up at him, his hand frozen on the door handle. The backseat is covered in a white sheet, the dips and curves making it obvious what’s underneath. 

“You’re in front today,” Sam says without looking. He pulls open the driver’s side door and takes Dean’s place behind the wheel. Cas backs away from the door, his eyes glued to the sheet as he makes his way around the car to the passenger seat. 

“This just happened,” Cas says numbly. He was late by a couple of hours? “This just happened. Dean is gone. Why is Dean _gone_? When did this happen? Why did this happen? What happened? Wh… How long? Who did this? Where?” Questions come spilling out of Cas like the tears he’s holding back want to. 

“Dean…” Sam takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes tight. “Dean didn’t take your death well.” Cas’ hands tighten into fists in his lap, the nails biting into his palms. “He was in a dark place. He was spinning out.” As Dean always does… did… As Dean always _did_ when things got bad. “He said he had a plan. It was a dumbass plan, Cas. He, uh…He…” Sam is crying. Cas wants to scream. “He killed himself.”

The car is quiet without the classic rock blasting from the speakers. The whole world is quiet without his laugh. The silence is too loud. It’s deafening. He can’t hear anything but echoes of the past. Dean’s voice asking _why me? Why would an angel rescue me from Hell?_ Dean’s shouts _Cas!_ Dean’s fingers tapping on the wheel. Dean’s music, muffled, as the sound leaked out from his headphones as he bobbed his head to the music he thought only he could hear. Dean’s pleas _Cas, you’re family. We need you. I need you._ Dean’s soft singing as he made bacon, the kind of singing that happens when no one else is in the room. Dean’s scream _No!_ Dean’s prayers. _Cas… You got your ears on?_ The kind of echoes of noise that one only hears in the space where noise very clearly should be. The silence of the dead, their memory imprinted.

“Why?” Cas asks on an exhale. He can’t manage more. 

“To finish a case,” Sam says, starting the car. Music doesn’t start with it. “I tried to wake him up. I really did. He was just…”

“Gone.” The word feels final on Cas’ lips. He looks out the window and thinks about asking more questions, but he doesn’t want to know. 

“I want to bury him.” Sam’s eyes are trained on the road. He doesn’t know how dissimilar he and his brother are when it comes to driving. Dean is… was a one hand on the steering wheel, one resting on the window kind of guy. He had one hell of a lead foot and seemed to look everywhere but the road, glancing at the people who he was talking to or out at the trees and stars. Sam has two hands on the wheel, his knuckles white.

“Like the first time,” Cas says quietly. He remembers watching from Heaven as Sam went against the hunter rules, went against Bobby and Dean’s wishes and buried his brother rather than the burning of a proper hunter’s funeral. “Why?”

“He’s my brother… I just… I can’t… I… I can’t do this, Cas.” 

“Then we’ll bury him.” 

It’s an hour before Cas speaks again, not that Sam hadn’t tried. “Where is Jack?” 

“He’s back at the bunker,” Sam says. His voice is clear of tears, but not of pain. It reminds Cas that he has to be stronger. He has to make sure Sam is okay. 

“You left him alone?” 

“Yeah. He’s adjusting. He’s practicing using his powers. He wasn’t ready for this.” 

“How long have I been…?” _Gone_. Gone like Dean? He’s talking about Jack like he’s a teenager or an adult. Not just an infant, defenseless and innocent. 

“A few months,” Sam says. 

“Jack is a few months old and you left him alone? He’s wanted by Heaven and Hell. He’s the son of an archangel and you left him defenseless and alone?” It’s easier to get mad about this than stay silent, watching Dean’s eyes fill with anguish every time he closes his eyes. It’s easier to get mad, wishing they had both stayed home instead of gone on a hunt where Dean…

“Jack wasn’t born an infant,” Sam says calmly. “He explained it as he had to grow up quickly, so he was born older.” 

The anger recedes and a wave of sadness large enough to drown in crashes over him again. 

When they reach the bunker, Sam turns the car off and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Cas gets out of the car and opens the back door, kneeling beside the car as his fingers brush the white sheet. 

“Cas,” Sam says. 

Cas doesn’t look up at him. “You need to rest. Go shower. Check on Jack. I’ll do this. I can do this.” He feels Sam pat his shoulder before walking away, leaving him to mourn alone for the first time since his return. 

Cas lifts the sheet from Dean’s face and finally feels the tears slip down his cheeks. He stands and carefully pulls Dean’s body from the car, cradling him in his arms as he walks away from the car. Dean’s paled face is turned to the sky, his neck braced by Cas’ arm. His arms and legs hang down limply, swaying with each shaky step Cas takes. 

Away from the road and any door to the bunker, Cas falls to his knees, his head bowing into Dean’s still chest as he lets out a sob, his hands tightening on Dean’s clothes. 

He knew that Dean would die one day. He just always thought he would be there for it. That he’d be there to hold his hand as he took his last breath. That he’d paint a beautiful picture for him as many do for fatally wounded soldiers on their final battlefield. He thought that Dean would die knowing how Cas felt and that maybe, Dean would feel the same. He’d hoped it wouldn’t hurt quite this much. He wanted to be better prepared. 

Cas chokes back his sobs and carefully lays Dean on the clean grass. He forces himself to stand and goes back to the Impala to grab the sheet from the backseat. There’s a duffle bag on the floor in the backseat that he takes a flannel shirt from and starts tearing into long strips as he walks back to where he’s rested Dean. 

Seeing him again, just laying on the grass, forces Cas’ heart to stop. Everything in his entire being is screaming that this can’t be real. He kneels beside Dean again, gently laying the sheet back over him, shielding him from the sun and the living. He’s careful as he takes the flannel strips and binds the sheet around Dean, taking the sad honor of the spouse in this funeral process. He feels like a fake. He’d never had enough courage to tell Dean how desperately and irrevocably he was in love with him while he was alive, but in his death, he takes the place of a widowed love. 

As soon as he’s done, Cas closes his eyes and balls his hands into fists. If he could vomit, he might have in this moment. Nothing about this feels right. For a moment, Cas wishes he was dead again, wasting away to be forgotten in the depths of the Empty. 

When he opens his eyes again, he looks at the white, tied off with plaid. His eyes run over the curve of Dean’s nose. He can still see every freckle in his mind. He can see every line etched in from years of laughing, years of crying, years of living. He can still see the green that reminded him of a spring meadow under the glow of the rising sun. He can still see the deathly pallor that had taken over Dean’s once vibrant complexion.

“I… I know I’m notoriously late. I was too late to rescue you from Hell though I had fought for it since the day you died, the Hellhounds ripping into your chest while your brother mourned. I fought every day with my superiors and I was blind enough to wait for their order. I was late. You were tortured and then you said yes. The damage was done and then I was there.” Cas’ nails bite deeper into his palms and he can’t look away from Dean’s shrouded face. “I’m late now,” his voice cracks. 

“I don’t know how I woke up in the Empty. I just know that once I was awake, I fought to get back to you. I fought with everything I had and I did it. I was just… late.” He feels hollow and small kneeling here. He feels useless and utterly alone. “I lost you twice. I lost you when I was stabbed by Lucifer and I watched my pain enter your eyes. I lost you when I stood between a payphone and a car and felt the Earth crumble beneath me because you had killed yourself. I lost you by a matter of hours, Dean.”

“I’m late,” Cas continues. “I’m late in telling you that I love you. I’m late by nine years, one month, twenty-three days, and for that, I will never forgive myself. Even if you could never return my love, you should have known. You should have known how deeply you changed me. How irreversible those changes became with every second I spent after ripping you from Hell no matter how close or far we were. I’m late, as I always am. I waited way too long to say everything that you mean to me. I’m an angel made of glass, standing transparent, my heart shattered and my exterior cracked.” Cas takes a shuttered breath. “I fell in love with you, and I will remain in love with you for the rest of my existence.” 

There’s no more air to breathe, the confession voiced with no one to listen. The world is too still. In the empty space where, in a perfect world, Dean would return his feelings and maybe even kiss him, there is empty space. There is a white sheet with three damp circles where angel tears dropped. There is no answer, and for this too, Cas mourns. 

He digs into the Earth with his hands, pulling up the grass and the cool, damp dirt. A part of him knows that there’s a shovel in the garage. Another part of him feels the release of tearing at what will soon be Dean’s grave. He grunts and cries furiously, sobbing heavily as the catharsis runs through him. Today was the first day Cas had ever cried and here he was doing it again, the tears spilling over without Cas’ consent. There’s a comforting release to crying, but there’s nothing but sorrow as he remains by Dean’s deathbed, shoulders shaking as he cries. 

When the grave is dug, Cas sits back, his coat and pants stained with grass and dirt. His heart hammers in his chest and he’s somewhat surprised that it’s still able to beat. He wipes his hands idly on his coat and closes his eyes. 

Cas doesn’t know how long he sat there alone, letting the air move around him as he felt the world move on without Dean. It’s been less than a day and Cas feels like nothing he could have ever prepared for. But after remaining still, numb and without breath, he found himself joined by Sam and Jack. Cas stands shakily and looks over at Sam. 

“How are you doing?” he asks Sam because that’s his job now. Sam gives him a strange look. He’s been crying again. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll never be ready,” Sam says, echoing Cas’ feelings. 

“We did this for you,” Jack says quietly. Sam sniffs and looks down at his feet. Cas looks at Jack without voicing his questions. “Dean wrapped you in white and we said thank you. We said we were sorry. We hoped for something better. And we said goodbye.” 

Cas and Sam kneel beside Dean. Cas’ hands take Dean’s shoulders as Sam takes his feet. _Thank you, Dean, for being my best friend and giving me a family when mine disowned me for loving you._ They lift him together and gently lower him into his hand-dug grave. _I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to ease your pain._ All three of them scoop dirt from the mound of dirt to cover him. Sam places a rock, a makeshift headstone. Jack places a daisy. Cas places a single feather. “Goodbye, Dean,” Cas says, his voice husky.

Castiel is an exiled angel, presumed dead. The other angels probably wanted him to stay that way. Most of his powers have been cut off, like privileges taken away from a disobedient child. He can’t raise Dean from the dead. He’d done it once back when he was one of Heaven’s best. He’d had his full power to raise Dean from the depths of Hell, hence the burns on his shoulders. Even if he had the power of Heaven on his side, Cas still wouldn’t be able to resurrect him. Dean had marked his soul. 

Each death is different. Souls who had killed themselves are marked. They chose death in a way that no one else had. They can only be brought back by Death themselves. Even if Cas had the ability, he doesn’t know if he would do it. How could he do that to Dean? How could he bring him back to the world where every burden is on his shoulders? The weight of the world would weigh him down again after the brief taste of paradise that he had in Heaven. He has the ultimate retirement. He’s finally allowed to relax on a beach with a beer. He’s finally in a world without monsters. He’s finally free. How would Cas be able to live with himself if he took that away from him? No, even if Cas had the ability to bring Dean back to life, he would choose a different option. 

Cas had made Dean a promise. He would make sure Sam was safe. So Cas planned to stay by Sam’s side and help him through the grief of his brother’s death. Cas had also made Kelly a promise. He would raise Jack well. So Cas planned to stay with Jack, teaching him and providing him with a father’s love in the hope that he would grow up to create the paradise he always wanted. Maybe once he had fulfilled his promises he could walk into Heaven and find his door. Maybe after so much time had passed, he would no longer be exiled. Maybe he would have to sneak in or fight his way through the white hallways. It doesn’t matter how he returns to Heaven, as long as he makes it to the door with Dean Winchester’s name. 

“Cas…” Sam says, pulling Cas back to the present. They’re standing beside the fresh grave and Jack has already gone back inside. Cas looks up at the younger Winchester and wonders how either of them are still standing. 

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” Cas says. He’s said these words before, but they’re all he has. “If you want to talk… I’m here if you need anything.” 

“Yeah,” Sam nods. “Maybe a hug and a whiskey,” he jokes without humor. “Come on,” he says, nodding toward the bunker as he shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” Jack says. His is the voice that had woken Castiel from the Empty. Not only did Cas recognize it, but Jack explained as best he could. He’d explained that Dean couldn’t be happy without Cas, something Cas highly doubted, but held close to his shattered heart all the same. He’d explained that something had been missing for Sam, Dean, and Jack. Sam was missing his brother. His brother was missing his angel. And Jack was missing his chosen father. 

“I’m grateful to be back,” Cas lies as he turns out the light to Jack’s room. “Goodnight, Jack.” He closes the door behind him and sighs, his shoulders sagging. 

Cas walks back to the War Room where he’d left Sam. He’s on a new glass of whiskey and has a scattered pile of photographs in front of him. He swallows a large gulp of the amber liquid as Cas takes a seat next to him and looks at the pictures. 

There are pictures of a Dean that Cas never knew. A Dean who was small and had a funny haircut, his smile wide and his shoulders unburdened. An older Dean with a mischievous grin as he holds the keys to an Impala that’s not yet his. A Dean with his arm slung around a version of Sam that’s still shorter than him, having not yet hit that growth spurt. Then there’s the Dean that Cas knew. Dean drinking beer as he leans against his beloved car. Dean glaring into the nosey camera, his hand out to stop the inevitable picture. Dean with his back to the camera, a book open on his lap. It’s not visible from the photograph, but Cas is sure it’s Vonnegut. Then there’s the picture that takes Cas’ breath away. Cas and Dean are bent over a lore book together, Cas drawing sigils out on a spare sheet of paper. Dean isn’t looking at the book or the drawings. His face is upturned, his eyes focused on Cas, his own pen lazily pressed to his bottom lip. 

“He loved you,” Sam says. Cas’ stomach flips, but he can’t look away from the picture, and he can’t move. “He should have told you.” 

“I know,” Cas says softly. “I’m family, right? Brother, best friend…” 

“No.” Sam shakes his head. He sounds drunk. “I heard what you said. Earlier.” This makes Cas’ head snap up. A chill runs all over him under his skin. “He loved you too. Like you do. I remember thinking he might… a long time ago. The way he looked at you. The way he said your name. The way he trusted you always.” Sam smiles a little. “How happy he was when you were around. How I had never seen him that happy about another person being around.” 

“Sam…” Cas wants to ask him to stop. He’s drunk and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Every word that he says is a dagger, sunk deep in his chest. 

“Then… we met a couple. Both hunters. Dean wanted to know everything. He wanted to know if it worked. He wanted to know if he could hunt and have a boyfriend. He wanted to know if he could have something like that.” Sam takes another sip from his glass and runs a hand through his hair. “When you died, I saw the look on his face. I watched him fall to his knees. I watched him give up. He’s the one who wrapped your body. He built your pyre. He wouldn’t let Jack or I near. He had to do it himself. And he did. He’s the one who doused and burned you. He prayed for you. He begged for God to put you together again and bring you back.” 

Cas’ hands are shaking. He laces his own fingers together tightly in his lap. Grief and hope have no business existing in Cas’ heart at the same time, but they do. 

“Dean couldn’t sleep, but when he finally did, he would cry. He would call your name while he curled up into a ball and cried in his sleep. He was as devastated as you are right now. He gave up.” Sam drains the rest of his glass and sits back in his chair. “Dean loved you more than anything and he should have told you.” 

“I think you’re inebriated,” Cas says mostly just for something to say. 

“Maybe.” Sam nods, looking at his empty glass. “I’m right, though. And you know it.” 

Cas picks the picture of them back up, Sam’s words repeating in his head.  _ The way he looked at you. The way he said your name… Dean loved you… _

“Keep it,” Sam says when Cas starts to put the picture back down. “Please.” 

“Are you going to bed?” Cas asks. He needs to get up. He needs to walk around. He needs space to think. He’s suffocating and his hands are burning where the photograph is touching his skin. 

“Yeah.” 

Cas watches Sam go before he gets up from the table, slipping the picture into his coat pocket before he decides to walk through the hallways much like he used to do anyway. The silent hours of the night were always when Cas would read and wander. It’s the same action he used to do. It’s the same looping route he used to take. It’s just different without Dean’s soft snores coming from behind his closed door. It’s different with Sam’s sure feeling that Dean’s heart belonged to an angel. It’s different. 

There’s a million ways Cas could try to talk himself out of believing any of Sam’s words, but he doesn’t want to. Instead, he clings to them, repeating them over and over as he walks. There’s no point in wondering “what if” but he does anyway. What if he did love him? What if he did tell him? What if they had been able to hold hands under the table and kiss each other goodbye? What if, what if, what if? 

Cas stops at the door to Dean’s room and the questions abruptly stop. There’s no room for hope. Dean is gone and Cas is exiled from Heaven. Dean is dead and Cas is here. He pushes the door open and steps inside. 

The bed is made as it always is. The walls are decorated like the owner is coming home. His journal is closed on his desk. There’s a few magazines here, an empty pie container there. It looks like a room awaiting the return of the constant occupant. Dean had made this room his home. The first room that he could call his own since he was four. 

“It’s a gift,” Cas whispers, looking at the spot where Dean had once handed him a mixtape. It weighs a thousand pounds in his pocket. 

Becoming Dean Winchester’s friend had been a gift. Falling in love had been the best gift of all. Now it all just feels like a curse. It feels like Heaven was right when they’d tortured and told him that angels aren’t meant to feel, but especially aren’t meant to feel love. Loving a human was disgusting to them. It was the best feeling that Cas had ever had the chance to embrace until the moment he saw the sheet in the backseat of the Impala. 

Cas sits down at Dean’s desk and flips open his hunter’s journal to soak in his words, bask in his handwriting. It opens on the last page he was writing on, the pan still between the pages. 

_ We lost too much. I failed every single person. And I watched him die. He was supposed to outlive me. He was supposed to bury me. Not the other way around. Mom is in some other world with Lucifer. Sam is chumming it up with Luci’s son. Crowley is gone. And Cas… I prayed I think for the last time. When I met him, I started praying. When I lost him, I prayed again. I can’t do it anymore. I lost him. I love him.  _

_ I love him _

_ I love him  _

Cas slams the book shut, his heart racing. Nothing keeps him tethered to that chair, room, bunker, Earth. He can’t fly, but he’s running as fast as he can. He doesn’t remember grabbing the keys to Baby but next thing he knows, he’s driving away in Dean’s car with his foot pressed to the floor, only a pedal between. 

The outside world is only a blur. All Cas can see is his destination at an abandoned park where the portal to Heaven will open up. The last time he was there, he’d betrayed Dean. He’d tapped him, sucking away his consciousness right after Dean had pleaded for him not to. Not to go. Not to leave him. Not to run away with Kelly to go to that cabin where he’d died. 

When Cas parks, he drops the keys into his pocket and runs to the portal, muttering the words that he knows will open the door for him. When the sigils start to glow, he drops his blade into his hand and waits. When no angels show up to stop him, a few options as to why cross his mind. No one is watching the door, everyone is confused at the return of the recently deceased angel, or this is a trap. 

Cas tightens his grip on his weapon and steps in. 

There’s no one waiting to ambush him. There’s no confused rush. There is no one. Cas runs through the halls, reading the names on the doors quickly as he goes. He’s familiar with the route through the alphabetized folder system of the dead. With each step he takes, his heart pounds faster. He’s going to see Dean. He’s going to find him. And this time, it’ll be different. 

_ Winchester, Dean. 1979 - 2017 _

“He’s not in there, you know,” Naomi’s cold voice interrupts, freezing Cas’ hand on the doorknob. He looks over his shoulder at her. 

“Naomi.” 

“You know he’s not in there. At least you should. So why are you here, Castiel?” Her arms are crossed. No one is with her, not visibly anyway. “Surely not to announce your miraculous return from the dead.” 

“Where is he?” Cas asked through gritted teeth. Seeing her brings back too many foul memories. Clouded memories of brainwashing. Pain searing through his skull. Refusing to kill Dean until finally giving in and weeping over what he’d done only to have to do it again and again and again until it was really Dean. Until Cas was shouting at Naomi while Dean spoke through a broken jaw and a pool of blood in his mouth. 

“You know the answer to that question, Castiel.” She pauses and he looks back at the door that she has to be lying about. “Where is the nephilim?”

The danger of the situation hits him suddenly. He can’t see the other angels yet, but they’re all after Jack just as Hell is. Just as Lucifer is. He’s been birthed and he’s powerful enough to wake an angel in the Empty. He’s Heaven and Hell’s most wanted for his power and allegiance. And Cas knows where he is. 

“You know where it is. Or you wouldn’t be alive.” 

Cas pulls open Dean’s door and slams it behind him, locking it quickly. 

Personal Heavens are strange things, even to Cas. There are different kinds depending on the person. There are full memories on replay that the person gets to relive in a sense as many times as they like. There are replications of what they had considered “home” when they were alive. There are dream houses, plucked straight from the imagination of the recently departed. There are shared Heavens for soulmates. There are a multitude of different Heavens. 

Dean’s Heaven is no longer memories as it once had been. It’s not an open road and his car. It’s a house. He’s inside of a beautiful house that he’s never seen before. 

“Dean?” Cas calls out, his hand still on the door behind him. This is where he’s hoping Dean comes running from the living room or kitchen. There’s no answer. Cas takes a few slow steps, taking in everything around him. There are pictures on the wall. Most of them are the pictures from Dean’s side drawer in his room in the bunker. They’re clean, unwrinkled, and glossy again. He walks into the living room where there’s a large brown couch and two brown recliners. Over the fireplace are more pictures. Wedding pictures. From a wedding that hasn’t happened. Dean’s arms are wrapped around Cas, his smile radiant. Another features them at an alter, embracing as they kiss, wedding rings gleaming. Cas runs his fingers along the edge of the picture frames as he stares, mesmerized by what he sees.

He leaves the living room reluctantly, making his way to the kitchen. There’s a fresh pie on the counter and souvenir magnets from different places stuck to the fridge. Apple pie life. Cas goes to a window to look out and sees there’s even a white picket fence lining the manicured lawn. A flower garden, a mailbox with Dean and Cas’ names on it, and Baby parked in the driveway all seem to gleam in the sunlight. 

“Please be here,” Cas mutters to himself as he moves away from the window and makes his way through the house. After leaving the kitchen, he passes through the dining room, walks by the living room again, pushes open the bathroom door, and stops at the single bedroom. Besides the front and back yards, there’s nowhere else for Dean to be which would mean Naomi wasn’t lying. “Dean?”

The bedroom is as empty and still as the rest of the house. The large bed is made. The room is clean. There’s a propped up picture frame on one nightstand and a small vase of flowers on the other. The picture is another one of the fake Cas and Dean, the ones who got married. They’re happy and in love, their eyes locked and foreheads touching as they blush with small smiles that tell the story that Cas wants to live. 

The entire Heaven is perfect. It’s also confirmation of everything that Cas had ever dreamed of. But Dean isn’t here and that much is obvious. An entire life created based off of Dean Winchester’s deepest hopes and dreams and he’s not even here to see it. 

“Castiel!” Naomi’s voice is mixed with a few other angels as they bust down the door. Panic surges through him. “Give us the nephilim and you’ll be welcomed home. Bring him to us.” 

“Like the angel tablet?” Cas spits, emerging from what could have been his bedroom. “My answer was no then and it’s no now.” 

“Make this easy for yourself, Castiel.” 

The easiest thing by their standards is to give up. For him, the easiest thing to do is slip past them and into Hell from where he once had jumped to rescue Dean just a handful of years ago. Make it easy on himself. It’s always a choice. Always an ultimatum. Choose to ally with Heaven and give their corrupted ranks whatever they ask for or place his loyalty and love in Dean Winchester, rescuing him, helping him, fighting by his side, watching over him as he sleeps to ensure his safety. The answer is always Dean. Even when he’s dead, Cas will choose him. 

In Heaven, Cas has an advantage. While his powers on Earth seemed inconsistent and dwindling, here he can feel his grace flowing more strongly. It’s not what it used to be, but it’ll do. He can make it to Hell with this. The other angels are moving in on him. He closes his eyes and dives. 

The last time Cas had been in Hell to rescue Dean Winchester was on Heaven’s orders. For those four months, Cas had waited, watching Dean fight back, spitting in the face of Alistair the first few times he’d been asked to torture other souls. He’d watched Dean sob, screaming for help, calling out for his brother as he was pulled apart.

He’s expecting the same Dean he’d found those years ago. Fighting and screaming, kicking and biting. Maybe even torturing others, having already said yes. This time is different. Dean isn’t screaming. He’s on the rack, but his body is limp, resigned. His lips are gently parted, no tension left in his body as a demon shoves a hot poker between his ribs. He doesn’t so much as flinch. Hellhounds take bites out of him. He’s being torn apart and he doesn’t seem to care. Cas does though. He rushes forward and slices into the offending demons with his angel blade. It’ll raise an alarm, but he can’t watch anymore. 

“Dean,” he breathes. His hunter doesn’t respond in any way. He closes his eyes slowly and keeps them closed as Cas carefully pulls the hot poker from his body. The crease between his brows shows sorrow, not pain. Tears roll silently. “Dean, you’re safe. I’m here,” Cas says as he releases him from the hooks. Dean lets his body fall and Cas catches him, holding him close. 

“I know he’s not real,” Dean says, voice weary and dry. 

“I’m real,” Cas whispers as he heals Dean, putting him back together piece by missing piece. “Know that I’m real,” Cas pleads gently. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. I’m the one who shattered the glass and walked into that barn. I’m the one who you stabbed in the heart and stole it in the process. Dean, please… I’m the one who died and left you alone.” 

At this, Dean finally winces. 

“I’m real,” Cas insists again. He wipes the blood and sweat from Dean’s face tenderly and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. Dean opens his eyes quickly, immediately finding Cas’. He catches Cas’ hand that’s cupping his jaw, but he doesn’t move it. 

“Cas?” He swallows hard. “How?” 

“Jack woke me up in the Empty and I was sent home, but it’s not home without you, Dean.” Cas can’t look away and neither of them has moved since Dean opened his eyes. Their faces are inches apart and it’s agonizing. “I have to tell you something.”

“No.” Dean shakes his head quickly. “No, I have to tell you something, Cas. Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me. It broke my heart and it broke me because—”

“I’m in love with you,” Cas gushes before he can stop himself. 

“I love you,” Dean says, a hint of a smile on his lips to counter the desperation in his voice. He grabs Cas’ face with both hands and kisses him without anything left to hold him back. Their lips crash against each other as they hold onto each other tighter. “Cas,” Dean groans against his lips. 

“Dean,” Cas murmurs back, his bottom lip trapped between Dean’s teeth. 

“Why are we still down here?” Dean asks suddenly, pulling away a little. “Isn’t this the part where we go home?” 

“I can’t,” Cas says apologetically, guiltily as if it’s his fault. 

“Out of mojo?” 

“Dean…” Cas doesn’t want to explain that he can’t bring Dean back. He doesn’t want to explain to him that Death is the only entity that has the power to bring him back and they obviously declined to do so. He doesn’t want to look into the greenest eyes he’s ever seen and tell him that he can’t bring him back to life. 

“Well, hello there, feathers,” a southern accent drawls. 

It’s very quick, being kidnapped. There are arms that take Cas’, his angel blade clattering to the ground beside Dean as he cries out. Something is shoved into his open mouth.

“Cas!” he hears Dean shout as he’s dragged away. He can taste every ingredient of the potion on the rag in his mouth. He can taste the spell as the darkness of Hell begins to swim out of focus. Even as it does, he still pulls against his captors. He kicks, but he’s not sure if his legs are moving anymore. He tries, but he’s not sure he’s awake anymore. 

“Dean…” 

Cas wakes up in a cell. It feels unnatural to fall unconscious as an angel. He’d slept as a human, and even then it had been awkward. The last time he’d woken up was in the Empty. He’s coming to realize that he doesn’t tend to wake up in good places or situations. 

“Dean!” Cas yells as he pushes himself up. His echo taunts him. He’s more than alone. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but the grounding feeling of failure floods him. There’s nowhere to go and he knows that his bars are warded. 

A door opens. Cas can’t see it. He can only hear it. The footsteps are quick. “Cas?” 

“Dean?” Cas runs to the bars and stops short of grabbing them. Dean runs the rest of the way to his cell and fumbles with the keys before unlocking the bars and flinging himself into Cas’ arms. 

“You’re okay,” Dean exhales, burying his face in Cas’ neck. “You’re okay.” 

“What happened? The last I saw…” 

“I fought him,” Dean says. He still hasn’t let go of Cas, his arms tight. “I fought the Kentucky Fried Douchebag and I won, Cas.” 

“You what?” 

“I fucking won.” He sounds like he’s in shock. Cas rubs Dean’s back comfortingly as his own mind spirals. If Dean killed the new King of Hell… wouldn’t that make him King of Hell? He  _ is _ a demon with no chance of coming back to life. He was friends with Crowley for an agonizing minute. He’s a born leader. “I’m the new king,” Dean confirms in a whisper. 

Cas walks into the bunker. He feels new, refreshed, even after coming directly from Hell. The air in the bunker is still heavy with grief and despair. It’s quiet and he remains unsure of how long he’s been gone once again. 

“Sam? Jack?” Cas calls out as he steps inside, his hand running along the wall. The demon warding fades slowly as he does, unfolding under his gentle touch. He watches them flicker out one by one. He’d hoped for something quiet like this, but had expected something else. Alarms maybe. Even though he knows he’s doing it for good, powering down the demon sigils feels wrong. 

“Cas?” Sam appears in the doorway. A look of relief passes over his face before he pulls Cas into a brief hug. “Couldn’t leave a note?” 

“No,” Cas says, shaking his head as he remembers his quick departure. “You would have tried to follow. I’m sorry. Where’s Jack?” 

As if on cue, Jack steps into the room. “Father!” He hugs Cas tightly. 

“I, uh…” Cas fidgets as he looks at them. “I have something to tell you.” A worried crease forms between Sam’s brows and Jack emulates it perfectly. “I went to find Dean.” 

“Cas…” Sam’s sorrow returns, his shoulders slumping.

“I found him. A little worse for wear, but I found him.” 

“What? Is he okay?” 

“He’s a little more than okay,” Dean says as he steps into the Bunker. “Heya, Sammy.” 

There’s nothing like watching the Winchester brothers reunite. There’s always the feeling that neither of them believed they would ever see each other again. Sam freezes, his eyes disbelieving, before he runs to his big brother and pulls him into a much-needed hug. Dean pats his back reassuringly before he’s finally let go. 

“How?” Sam asks, looking between Dean and Cas.

“Well first off,” Dean says, “you never give me a proper funeral. Not saying that’s weird, but it’s weird.” Sam laughs a little but then Dean blinks. His meadow green eyes are suddenly pitch black. 

“No,” Sam says in a harsh whisper, stepping backward. 

Dean blinks again, clearing the black. Cas steps beside him and their fingers lace together as if they’ve been casually holding hands for all the years they’ve been in love. 

“It’s still Dean,” Cas says. “He’s just…”

“The King of Hell and a black-eyed demon.” Dean shrugs apologetically. 

“The King of Hell?” Sam stutters. His eyes fall to their linked hands. “You talked to him?” 

“Yeah,” Dean answers at the same time as Cas. Sam smirks. It’s brief, but it happened. 

“I’m still me,” Dean says, lowering his eyes. “And I can protect the kid now. Heaven can’t have him and neither can Hell. He’s Cas’ kid. And uh…” He looks over at Jack, “I’m sorry.” Jack’s face splits into a wide grin and Dean lets go of Cas’ hand in time for Jack's collision for a hug. “You’re alright,” Dean half-laughs. 

“I have to go back,” Dean murmurs into Cas’ lips.

“Don’t go,” Cas groans as Dean pulls him closer by the hips. 

“Come with me.” Dean nibbles Cas’ lip before letting the kisses trail down to his neck. “Come with me, please. Rule by my side. A King Consort if you will.” 

“Sounds divine,” Cas answers, clinging to Dean’s shirt as the kisses send shivers down his spine. King Consort to Dean’s King of Hell doesn’t sound too bad at all. He’s already his. 


End file.
